


Liberation

by clevelandy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A little bit of angst, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Carry On Quarantine, Carry On Quarantine- Cabin Fever, Explicit for the swearing and the blood and the almost fucking, In this headcanon biting doesnt turn u into a vampire, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Mostly just so MUCH love, My favorite headcanon is that Simon & Baz go to couples therapy, Post-Wayward Son, Semi-Public Sex, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon has a lot of feelings that he doesn’t understand, SnowBaz, What does? good question, all my fics have stupid metaphors, blood is love, cabin fever, intense feelings, it’s not gross so please don’t be mad at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevelandy/pseuds/clevelandy
Summary: Simon feels trapped. Trapped because of this fucking pandemic. Trapped because he has giant fucking wings while in a fucking pandemic. Trapped because he can never explain to Baz how much he loves him. So, naturally, he asks Baz if he can go with him when he goes out to hunt.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 53
Kudos: 286
Collections: Carry On Collection - Quarantine Edition





	Liberation

**Author's Note:**

> My topic was Cabin Fever for the Carry On Quarantine.  
> Thank you so much to [xivz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz) for organizing and promoting this collection! It's my first time doing one of these and I had a really good time participating.
> 
> Enjoy!!

**Baz**

I should have known that something was amiss. There are times that I wish that vampires have all of the special powers which Snow believes we have. Or, at least, I wish I could predict my boyfriend's actions better. Maybe that's all I need: for Simon to be a little more predictable.

Even now, I know that's ridiculous. Unpredictability is what makes me ache for him. His impulses are the law of these lands, and I'm happy to follow such a constitution. But if I weren't criticizing him, who would I be? 

Besides, there was no way to see that things would go this way. I'm no psychic, and it had all started innocently enough:

"Can I come with?" 

"What?" I had spun around, registering briefly that the flowing sweater around me resembled a cloak just enough to fulfill the vampire stereotype. Simon's eyes followed it briefly, and then he was looking up at me. The sneer had already settled on my lips. It's a habit.

"I said, can I come with?" He repeated, unperturbed (I guess that's what happens when you've lived with me this long). 

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "I heard you, Snow. Why would you want to come with me?" He'd never offered to come with, not since America, at least. 

"Well, for one, I enjoy spending time with my boyfriend. My boyfriend is a vampire, which means he needs to go feed. Naturally, I should follow him if I want to spend time with him. Plus, I want to go fly for a bit. I heard on the news that we should stay physically active while quarantined."

I wondered if my eyes could detach and permanently stay rolled up in my head. No newscaster has ever taken account of the calories burnt by flying, especially not when using your side-effect-dragon-wings. My hand was still on the door handle in my preparation to leave, so I released it. I leaned my back against the door so I could cross my arms across my chest, effectively blocking the path of exit from him while also managing to look down on him- a win-win. 

"You could've gone on a walk during the day time. You know, so you can get some sun? Something which human men actually need. Plus, you've been with me all day."

"Yeah, but if I walked during the day then I wouldn't be able to walk with you right now. Once a day 'n all that." He paused. "Plus, can't fly during the day, can I? I wanna stretch out my wings. Please, Baz, I've been stuck in this house for days and-" 

"Simon, please. You know... That I hate being watched while I do it.” He was right to be sick of being inside. Simon Snow thrived best under the sun. I was surprised he lasted as long as he did, honestly, given his extroverted streak. 

"I don't have to watch you, Baz. I just want... I need to get out of here. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I need to be somewhere without walls or people or anything. It didn’t feel so bad during the day but now I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

I stared at him for a long moment after that, but he stared right back. He was practically bouncing in his shoes, but he held my glare like no other.

I hadn't wanted to leave the house recently aside for feeding, so perhaps this is my fault after all. As of recent, Simon has been clinging to me like spandex (not that I'm much better), but that means he goes where I go, and it's sometimes hard to remember that Simon and I have different needs. It's been easy for me to slip into a lulled comfortability at home. Simon and I wear pajamas all day. We're frequently found in compromising positions wherever we can find a place to sit (or lean, or lay) much to the chagrin of Shepard and Penny (who are much more private with their relationship. That's not my fault, though. If my boyfriend wants to be kissed against the refrigerator then I have no other option but to concede. Maybe they should be a little more adventurous). We part for meals and the occasional breath. We even watch movies on each other's laps, rotating who's on top depending who's most interested in the movie at hand. 

It is entirely the erotic gropefest that I had always hoped dating Simon would be. 

But, we are (kind of) adults, and life is more than just kissing and fucking. I take breaks from our quarantine to read and craft (now that my classes have ended) and hunt, but Simon isn't me. Simon is someone who needs to go outside to be happy, and he is without an excuse to do so. He takes this stay-at-home order more seriously than anyone else. I don’t think he’s left the house for anything other than to get groceries.

I didn’t want him to come with me. I always want to be with Simon, but hunting is... different. I'm still not comfortable with him watching me. I avoid it whenever possible, and I don't think he's seen me since America. It would be best if we kept it that way. 

But ultimately, what worried me most was how being stuck in this house would affect him.

”I am soft. You take advantage of me too frequently,” I sighed, turning so I can’t see Simon's celebration of my resignation, “And that is cruel of you.” 

And that is how Simon ended up standing in the woods with me. 

An excited Simon is one of my favorite people on earth (ranking just behind a Simon who's giving me a blowjob), but it was difficult to take relish in his emotions on the car ride here. Hunting isn't fun, it's a disgusting chore. It's a job I need to focus on, and it's hard to prepare to do so when the love of my life is humming sweet tunes while leaning out the window to catch the wind in his hair like some kind of dog. He's obscene. I want to shove my tongue down his throat. 

"Okay," I start, turning to him once we're outside and motioning with my wand, "Would you like me to spell you invisible?”

"I don't reckon anyone's out here, do you?" He says easily, a smile on his lips. I shrug, returning it to my pocket before taking a deep breath, preparing to give him a speech. Instead, Simon stepped forward and slid his hands into my back pockets, pulling me up against him. His wings were spread already; I had honestly forgotten how massive they were.

I frown, trying to stay composed while Simon presses a kiss to my chin. Then to the corner of my mouth. 

"Listen, Simon-"

"I know, Baz. I won't bother you. I'll stay on the opposite side of the forest. You won’t even know I’m here.” I nod slowly, gazing slowly from one of his eyes to the other. 

"And we'll meet back here in half an hour."

"Just half an hour?" His eyebrows are furrowed.

I open my mouth, preparing to warn him of the dangers of nighttime forest dwellers (most of which he can no longer see. But they can definitely see a man with wings). 

"Fine," He smiles before I can start, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. The tip of his nose is cold. I know because when he leans in to press his lips against mine our noses touch. It's hurried but it's nice. 

He turns, wings fluttering through the slits in his jumper (my jumper. They're all torn by now. It’s a donation I’m willing to make). 

"Wait!" I call out, stepping forward and pressing a hand to the center of his back. He turns to me, a goofy smile still on his face. I wonder how forlorn I look in comparison. "Be careful?"

"Careful is my middle name," He laughs, and then he's gone. 

**Simon**

There are times when it feels like I don't fit inside my body. Like my soul, I guess. I don’t know. It’s like there's so much going on inside of me that it doesn't fit in the body I’ve got. I'm not really sure what that means or if it's important. I wouldn't even know how to explain it to someone. Maybe it's just that I was meant to be a few inches taller. Something in the orphanages stunted my growth I bet, or Baz stole those extra inches while we were still feuding at Watford.  
  
Anyway, the feeling isn't always good, but it’s not always bad either. So I’m really not sure what to do with it. 

Sometimes I feel like that when Baz is being soft with me. When he holds my face and just looks at me- especially if he’s not even going in for a kiss. Looking back at him makes me feel so whole. Then it makes me feel almost too whole. It makes me feel like my heart is expanding, and part of me worries that my ribs will crack open for it. Or, like I'm burning from the inside out. I have to kiss him or touch him then because otherwise, I’d probably die from loving him too much (how gay is that?).

I don’t think I want to tell Baz about all this, mostly because I can’t phrase it well and it might hurt his feelings if I explain it wrong. There isn't enough of me to house all the love I have for him, which I think is a nice sentiment. Then again, it might sound like I wish there was less love and more me. That's not true. In fact, I'd get rid of some of me if I could. That sounds a bit self-destructive though, which he probably wouldn't like either. 

I wish I could explain it all to him. It might make him feel nice, and It'd probably put some of the love stuck inside _me_ into _him_ , which is where it's meant to be. The bloody git is perfect and all, but he never really seems to understand it when I tell him I love him. It's really unfair that I don't have the words to make him understand. Sometimes (all the time) Baz talks to me like I'm one of the girls Shakespeare wrote about, and it makes me lose my fucking mind. I don't have words like he does, so all I can do is tell him I love him in return. It never feels like enough.

I've told him that once- the Shakespeare bit. He just smiled and mumbled something about Shakespeare actually having been bisexual, and some of his poems having been written about men. As if that makes me feel any less inadequate. 

Don't get me wrong. Feeling trapped in it doesn't mean I want it to stop. I _don't_ want it to stop. It makes me feel good to be able to love him so much that I want to scream. If being able to feel that much has the stipulation of never having the words to explain it, then I guess I'll just have to make do. I’d probably feel upset if it stopped happening, honestly. Maybe I don’t quite understand the feeling, but I know that it's good.  
  
But there’s the bad version of it too. That version has been happening a lot more frequently.   
  
Don’t get me wrong, the lockdown has been pretty fun all things considered. Pretty much all we do is watch movies and find places to have sex that irritate Penny and Shep (Baz is a fucking deviant)(Okay, maybe some of it's me too), which is a pretty good way to spend a horrifying pandemic if you ask me.

It’s not all peaches and cream though. Some of it's quite difficult. Penny makes us watch the news every night, and sometimes hearing about it all makes me want to run. I’m not sure where I’d run to. And _that_ makes me feel trapped too.

When it’s this bad version it feels like it comes from my lungs instead of my heart. I feel like the blueberry girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except instead of turning into a blueberry I worry that I’ll start going blue because I can’t breathe. Sometimes it seems like Baz notices this and he'll hold my hand through it, but then that causes the other kind of expansion and I’m feeling too many things to even think straight. Then I want to explain to him that I'm feeling unsettled, but that I love him, but that I want to scream, but that he's all that's ever mattered to me. And I never know how to go about it. Then I feel even _more_ trapped. It's a vicious fucking cycle. Sometimes it’s too much. 

Actually, it's almost always too much. 

Recently, it’s been happening too frequently for my comfort. Sometimes we aren’t even watching the news and I start to feel it. Confined in my body, imprisoned in our apartment, trapped in everything. I have to distract myself from it, otherwise, I’m not sure what will happen. I'm worried I'll start acting like how I did before America. I'd do anything to not feel like that again. 

So I’ve been trying to leave the house when I can, per my therapist's instruction. Penny has Asthma, which really makes me nervous, so whenever someone needs to go to the store I volunteer. I never actually got my license, but Baz puts a spell on his and lets me borrow it. I think he might understand that I need to leave the house sometimes. Getting out of the house helps. It's hard to feel trapped when you're outside.

When I get to the parking lot of the store I park as far away as possible. I close all the windows and then scream as loud as I can. Sometimes until my throat goes raw. Once, a man came up to the car to see if I was okay, but I didn’t notice him until he tapped on my window. That made me really scream. It was a whole commotion.

Screaming usually helps a little bit. It takes something out of me that shouldn’t be in there. 

I come home with a scratchy voice (which makes me self conscious. I don’t want Baz to think I got _it_ ), so I try not to talk for a little while afterward. Baz never questions a good cuddle, so I always sit right down on his lap and press my face into his neck. Getting to take deep breaths into his skin while having his arms around me seems to get rid of whatever else is inside of me, so it’s become a weekly tradition. 

But I've already been to the grocery store this week, and it didn't seem to help much. Plus, even though I try to go on walks, it's hard to keep track of time. I'm not sure when it's day or night unless I'm looking out a window. I think I've been on a walk recently, but now I'm not sure if that was yesterday or last month. Baz says he's felt the same way, so I know I'm not going crazy, but it's still disorienting. It also means I never know exactly when the trapped feeling is going to hit. 

So when Baz stood up to go out, I wanted to go with. 

Yes, because I love him and stuff, but also because I had just finished a puzzle. When I placed the final piece, instead of feeling accomplished I started to feel like I couldn't breathe. There were 500 pieces and I'd spent what could've been a few days on it, but it also could've been a few hours as well. I really wasn't sure. Baz had kissed the top of my head in congratulations on his way to the door, and I decided I needed to go with him. 

It was a good decision too. For one, I had almost forgotten how lovely Baz looked in the moonlight. He always looked beautiful, but there was a full moon out, and the soft light hitting his sharp features was a really good combination. Getting to see that was one point for Simon. Getting to kiss him under the moonlight, in public, without feeling like anyone was watching us? Two points for Simon. 

Plus, now I get to fly. I just won this whole fucking pandemic. 

Flying is like the opposite of everything I've been feeling since this all started. What felt like an unfortunate side effect of losing my magic has eventually become something I really enjoy about myself, oddly. Granted, I can't ride the tube without getting coated by magic by Penny or Baz, but the result is that I get moments like this. So I've decided I can live with it for the time being. 

After I get in the air I immediately start heading away from Baz, since he wants his privacy. I get it, I think. Even though I've explained to him that it really doesn't bother me that he needs to drink blood, I think he's shy about it. It would be nice if he let me hang out a little closer to him, but I'm willing to do what makes him comfortable. I start out heading towards the direction of home, but a moment later I find the trees start to thin and worry I'm getting close to some houses, so I turn around and head deeper into the woods. 

I'm definitely not hurried to get the wings removed _now_. Not when they seem to be the only thing that makes sense about me. I pump my wings and I am in the air. I can dodge trees and swoop down with ease. It's simple. No thoughts needed, no more assembly required. I can raise high above the trees and I don't need to think. The nighttime air is cool, but flying is like pumping a muscle, so I'm sweating with the effort of it. It's the perfect exercise. I don't even feel like I need to scream. 

It feels so good, to be up here like this. I push forward, following the length of a river that passes deep through the forest preserve. I wonder if families usually camp along the banks of it. Right now, at least, there doesn't seem to be anyone around. I'd thought that camping would be a good exercise in social distancing, but maybe there's something about it that I don't know. I've never been camping- it's not like I went on trips as a kid, and it's not a common practice in the Mage world. I wonder if Baz would want to go camping with me. I'm vaguely aware that he's is somewhere to the right of me, tangled in the woods below, but I'm heading further out into the wood than where he's located. At least, I think I am. 

Right now it feels like there's nobody on Earth besides me. I'm just above the treeline, meaning sometimes my toes brush against leaves, but not even the birds or bats join me up here. This, I think is the perfect exercise in social distancing. Nobody would catch a thing if we all had wings. Actually, maybe that's not a good idea.

Anyway, I wish Baz could feel like this. He probably feels trapped too, in his own ways. I wonder if he'd let me bring him up here. Letting him feel this might be a nice thing to do for him. Maybe that would show him how much I care about him. We haven't really tried to fly together outside of times of peril, so if he could feel comfortable then it might be a good experience for us. I wonder if there was a way for me to carry him comfortably. When we get married I'll probably fly him through the threshold of our two-bedroom. 

Clearly I'm thinking about him too much because, after a few laps up and down the length of the river, I find him again. I lift higher into the air but pump my wings in a steady way so that I can sort of hover over him. I don't think he can see or hear me, because he hasn't lifted his head, but I can just barely see his face myself.

He's making his way through the wood at a slow pace. I can see that his wand is out and that he's a little hunched over. He looks ethereal, like a beautiful ghost haunting the trails. That's when I notice that Baz is following the winding line of the trail, which surprises me. Surely, after doing this every night for his entire life he'd know that animals avoid the paths. Why wouldn't he venture deeper into the wood? 

I want to land and talk to him, but I know he won't be happy about that. I'm getting tired just hovering here though (I don't think I've flown this long since before the quarantine). Plus, there's a deer just a few meters behind him. It's just laying there, and Baz doesn't seem to notice it. Maybe I should tell him about it. 

When I land behind him Baz nearly jumps out of his skin, and I instantly feel bad. He has his wand lifted in defense, but he lowers it as soon as he sees who I am. 

"Holy Fuck, Simon!" Hearing him swear like a normal usually makes me laugh, but I really did scare him. I reach out and touch his arm.

"I'm sorry, Baby." I start, moving to gently hold both of his forearms. He's already getting heated, now that the surprise is gone, his eyebrows arching accusatorily as his mouth curls into a frown. I motion behind us with my thumb before holding his arms again, but I'm panting a little bit and the gesture is hurried. "I didn't mean to scare you... And I know I said I'd stay away until you were done, but I got tired. And I saw a deer...behind us and I didn't know if you saw it was there and I just wanted to help-"

"Crowley, Snow, can you keep your voice down?" He hisses with a sneer on his lips, though he's abandoned all attempts to be quiet too, so I don't see the issue. I swallow, squinting at him in the darkness as I regain my breath. "Yes, I know the deer is there. But she's a female and I'm pretty sure she has a foal so-"

"Oh my god," A little giggle passes my lips. I can't help it. He looks like he wants to kill me, eyes wide and wild, but also like he'd be blushing if he could. Both reactions are fair. “You're a softie."

"I'm not a softie,” he grumbles.

I grin, speaking in a sing-song voice now that I know I'm in the clear, "Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is a big softie." I take a step closer and Baz holds his hand out to stop me. I stop myself from getting closer for the time being, but I’m still grinning. "I have to say, I've always known you were the kindest vampire on-"

"Shut up, Snow. I hunt in these woods every night. It would be stupid to kill all the females, especially since they only give birth once or twice a year. I'd starve." He pauses, "And... there's no need to be unnecessarily cruel... in this... situation."

"You're like... the opposite of the bad guy from Bambi." He laughs then, though clearly he means not to because in a second his disposition is soured again. He takes his arms away from me to cross them over his chest.

"Simon, I'm going to lock you in the car if you aren't out of here in the next three seconds." 

But suddenly there's a different route that I want to take. 

**Baz**

Simon's on me, and I have to admit that I'm caught off guard. I stumble back gracelessly, my stomach dropping in the tumble of it. My back hits a tree (luckily, or I'd be on the ground), but Simon's still kissing me. His hands start out cupping my cheeks before sliding back into my hair (by the smell of it, he scrapes his knuckle against the bark my head is rested on), and I have no choice but to kiss him back. He crowds against me until nothing else exists in the world besides a mangled oak and Simon Snow's lips.

I wrap my arms around his waist and crane my neck down for him as I hurry to catch up with him. Simon has the jawline of a superhero, I'm not afraid to admit it, and he puts that chin to good use any time he kisses me like this. It's all contrasts with Simon: forceful pressure but soft lips, fingers tugging sharply but a gentle roll of his hips. 

It's easy to get caught up in him. He's kissing me, and nothing feels better in this life than when he bites my lip and tugs my hair at the same time. Absolutely nothing else in the world matters as he cups the back of my neck, tugging me closer to him as if we weren't already completely enveloped in one another. In fact, he's so distracting that I barely register as one hand leaves me, reaches down, and moves one of my hands to his arse.

I can't be caught unprepared, though. 

I squeeze, perhaps a little tighter than what he expected, as a sharp breath escapes his nostrils. There's no relenting in this though, not when he started it like this. I was minding my own business when the mighty chosen one decided he needed to suck my face off, so he deserves all that comes to him. My hands begin kneading the muscle, moving slowly over his jeans until they meet in the middle, where I cup my fingers forward and nudge them between his thighs. I know he's sensitive there, it’s a little too close to his cock, proved true when he squeaks into my mouth. 

I've got the upper hand now, and though my back is to the tree, Simon's forcefulness is fleeting. I wrap an arm back around his waist, holding him tight against me while toying with various ways of squeezing his ass. I tilt my head slightly to the side, and I know it drives him crazy when I start to suck on his lower lip instead of meeting him in the middle. He growls, and I almost laugh. How ridiculous this is, how nice, to be goofy boyfriends making out in a forest preserve. Simon can change any of my sour moods in an instant.

It's funny, right up until he cups his hand over my crotch.

I pull away from his mouth, pushing my face into his neck as I try to regain my breath. He squeezes. How many times will Simon catch me off guard until I just drop dead, vampirism be damned?

"Simon..." I hiss, though it comes out more like a plea. I can practically hear the way he smirks. 

"Do you want to?" He asks, chest pressing flush against mine while the palm of his hand presses more confidently into my groin. I let out a noise that I'm not exactly proud of and move my hands to his shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut as I push my nose into the crook between his shoulder and neck. Clearly he had a good time flying.

But this is a mistake. 

It occurs to me too slowly that this is a bad idea because my hips jut forward against his hand before I command them to. His hand is there, and I'm grinding into it as if I were some kind of fucking teenager hiding out after prom. Because he's _Simon_ , and it's what he _wants_ me to be doing and I am _so fucking weak_. It's his job to be unpredictable, and it's my job to make sure he's doesn't get himself killed in the process. I'm going to get fired from that job for performance. Considering the fact that we're in the middle of the woods, I haven't fed in over 24 hours, and now I've got my face pressed into the warm neck of a man who, right now, smells like a fucking bakery. If those weren't enough clues as to how stupid I'm being, then perhaps the fact that my mouth was now full of teeth would suffice. 

"Fuck, Simon. I'm sorry. I'm just... really fucking thirsty. And you're so..." I don't want to hurt his feelings, and I'm embarrassed, so I trail off. This isn't exactly a fair situation. I pull my head back as far as it can go, turning away to try and get a breath of fresh air. If Simon were anyone else it wouldn't be this hard. It's times like these I wish he still wore that stupid cross. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so fucking hot."

A snort comes from Simon, and I look back over to him, my eyebrows raised. His cheeks are pink and I am so fucking thirsty.

"Sorry, darling," He mumbles, not making any move to get away from me. He's still palming my crotch, though his rhythm is less focused. The idiot is still pressing up against my chest though, almost like he's trying to get me to get close enough to kiss. I wonder if he can't see me in the darkness, but I assumed it was light enough that he could at least make out the giant fucking fangs coming from my mouth.

"Simon," I start, but he shrugs. 

"You've never bitten me before," He says matter-of-factly as if that isn't a big part of our current issue. I could kill him. 

“Yeah, Snow, because I’m careful. Not because it’s easy.” I snap, placing a hand against his shoulder but applying no real pressure. He doesn’t move. “You could try and make it a little easier for me.” 

I expect the tone in my voice to startle him or to move him away. Instead, he wraps both arms around his neck (which is a relief in itself, because it’s at least 20% easier to think with his hand off my cock), and fucking brushes his nose against my cheek. I could kill him. I probably will kill him.

”Maybe I don’t want to make it easier for you,” He says, smiling devilishly before wetting his lips. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and leans in a little, swaying too close to my mouth before leaving a kiss on the corner of my lips. Simon Snow is going to die trying to kiss me, and it will be nobody’s fault but his own. 

”Simon...” I grumble, my tone warning, but it’s hard to listen to myself. Recently I’ve been wondering if Simon is part siren when I find myself half-naked in the living room or on my knees in the kitchen, but especially now as I’m finding myself wrap my arms around his waist. Meanwhile, Simon is veering closer than ever, stopping short of kissing me by placing his forehead against mine. I am going to kill Simon Snow. 

I close my eyes, trying to relax, to breathe. But breathing just makes me smell Simon, Simon, Simon. He smells like buttered bread. Popcorn. Sweat, but in the best kind of way. Simon Snow is the world's worst carbohydrate.

”Want to know what I’m thinking?” He murmurs, and that’s when his hips start up again. I grunt softly, moving away from his forehead to tilt my head back against the tree again as I start sucking on my fangs in an attempt to get them to go away. Simon is no help, leaning in and pressing a kiss right to my Adam's apple, and then he starts to mumble against it with a gravelly voice, “I think maybe, instead, I should suck you off. Right here against this tree, with you... like this” I’m not sure if he means ‘in the middle of a Forest’ or, ‘while you’re seconds from draining every drop of blood from my body.’ Both make me shudder.   
  
I groan, gripping his hips tightly. He stutters in his movement but in a moment he starts again. He reaches up and tucks some of my hair behind my ear, before pressing a kiss just below my it. I wonder what we’d look like if anyone walked by: Simon, languid and horny and seconds from laughter, me, sweating and straining but still pulling him closer. We’re a fucking mess.   
  
“Then... You could bite me.” 

It’s almost as if a record scratched. Even the crickets know not to chirp.   
  
I grab his shoulders, having been woken from my Snow-induced trance, and guide him off of me with actual intent. He takes a step back, not looking confused or even sheepish for the suggestion. His expression is too sincere, given how he’s joking.

”Simon, stop.” I say, immediately placing my hands at my sides to curl into fists. I’m ashamed at how my fangs make me lisp, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m angry, and horny and so fucking thirsty. My head feels like there’s a tornado inside of it. “This isn’t a game. It's not funny because... It’s... not easy, Simon! I come out here to make it easier. And you stopped me from what I was doing. Which! Was exactly what I asked you not to do.” 

He looks offended, eyebrows furrowing as he jerks his chin back. I wonder if he always knew the actual difficulty I have not drinking his blood, or if I’ve just disgusted him. A younger him definitely knew, but he's been eased into stupid comfortability around me. Simon lifts his hand to me, thinks twice and then places it on my shoulder. He’s quiet for a second, keeping his distance but still touching my shoulder. I look at the ground instead of his searching eyes.   
  
“I understand that it’s difficult," He starts, and I half expect an apology. I know what he’s doing: our therapist has taught us an emphasis on listening to each other’s feelings since we're both too dumb to spell them out. But I’m not in the mood to be therapized. I’m angry.

He's quiet for another moment, then, "But I’m not joking.” 

"Snow," I plea, rolling my eyes. It's getting harder to speak in this condition. I read a vampire hunting manual once that said that a vampire's fangs keep growing their entire life. It's ridiculous, obviously, or we'd see fucking walruses in Nevada. But sometimes they feel bigger than other times. Regardless, I need him to stop talking so I can go drink something, _anything_. I can’t play along with his strange and sudden masochism. 

"No, listen, Baz," He starts, but then he doesn't say anything for a little while. He has his eyebrows furrowed, and he's staring at the ground now, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. I'm just watching him, eyes wide while I pray he doesn't wander closer than arm's length. I’m still mad, but I hold my tongue. Finally, he continues, eyes still to the dirt, "We know that's not how you get turned. And, um, it doesn't seem to be that painful, from what I've seen. And... we know it won't kill me."

That throws me off. Because it sounds like Simon is serious. There’s a twinge in my chest. 

"We don't know that." 

"Yeah, we do. We saw, um, in Vegas."

"We don't know that I have the control to do that, Snow," I say flatly, but I hear my own voice crack. “Besides, there’s no reason for me to even-

"The reason is that I want you to, Baz.” He says, emphasizing with a slight tap to his foot. “You’ve never... you’ve never drunk anyone’s blood. And I’m not saying you should start, but I...” He gestures with his hands, clearly unable to articulate further.

My head is pounding and I feel saliva pooling in my mouth, but against all reason, I sit down on the forest floor. No matter how frustrated or confused I may be, Simon has something to say. I can wait, so long as he doesn’t get too close. Simon follows suit, sitting across from me with his legs crisscrossed.

”Take your time, Simon.” I say, gentler now, but I watch him with a raised brow. He swallows (his Adam’s apple bounces, but I am strong enough to ignore it) (it is the only thing I'm looking at) and nods. 

“You hate this part of yourself, and it makes me... upset.” He starts, looking at his palms instead of me. Again, I wonder how much he can see in the darkness. “Because I love you. Which means I love it- you being a-a vampire. And I’m not good at explaining things. It gets... all jumbled inside of me. But I thought that maybe this would be a good way to... explain.”

”Simon, baby, I know you love me. You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

”But I want to. I want you to know... what I feel. Because, you can’t see it, at least not in the way I want you to see. I _want_ to prove it.”   
  
I reach forward and take his hands in mine. They’re warm. I'm an idiot, and so is he. 

"Simon I don't want to hurt you. I can't hurt you." I say, a knot of anxiety pulling at my stomach. I couldn’t live if I hurt him. He has not convinced me. Not yet.

He smiles then, softly, "You won't," and the sincerity of it almost makes me melt into the dirt. 

"Simon."

"I know you won't." 

For a moment, looking into the expanse of sky in Simon's eyes, I think of Lamb (may he rot on that ghastly strip). But more specifically, I think of, "No need to leave a corpse when you can leave a satisfied customer." And when Simon blinks slowly I think of him, a younger him, and the way he whispered, "Does it have to be fatal every time?" I think of how many times Simon has tried to touch my fangs. I think of how many times Simon has asked me what he smells like.

I can't believe I've missed all of these cues. 

I've never been Simon. I've never been the one to avoid thinking-it just doesn't work like that for me. Usually, the slightest ticks in his voice set me off into overthinking. But here we are, after years together, and I never noticed that this has been something Simon has wanted. He's wanted it, maybe more than I do, maybe without even knowing it himself. Clearly, he wants it now, as indicated by the way he's jutting his chin out and tilting it back. Like he's trying to make a show of himself. As if he's ever had to do anything more than just _be_. 

"Simon..." I whisper, and I feel myself crawling forward. He moves his legs so I can sit on his lap- and I do- but before I know it we’re laying on the ground. His wings are spread beneath him on the forest floor and I’m straddling him with our chests pressed together. 

I lean in to touch my nose to his jawline. Nothing sounds as sweet as his name, so I whisper it again, and Simon hums. We inhale then, in unison, my nose pressed against his skin while he gathers the evening air. A cricket jumps away from us when Simon lifts his hand to the back of my head but Simon doesn't flinch.

He stays silent then, and there's a gentle pressure against my head. I let him guide me without complaint, finding myself dragging the tip of my nose down his jawline as if he were a fine cigar. He stops when I tuck my nose at the hinge, just below the lobe of his ear. I take another breath when I feel his pulse against my lips. It's thrumming by now, pumping so fast, so _much_. He's so fucking alive. "Why?"

"I want you to," He mumbles simply, and I feel it against my lips. I worry for a moment that his heart is beating so fast that it will beat right out of his chest. Then this would all be for nothing. 

"I don't want to take it from you," I respond, and I'm not sure if I mean his blood, or his time, or his life. Maybe all of it. Maybe it's all the same thing. Maybe I've always known that. From day one, living with Simon in my life has felt like living on borrowed time. I am so afraid of taking more than what I deserve. I am so afraid of taking him. 

I'm startled when he laughs, and it makes me jerk a little. A soft hum leaves Simon's lips, and he reaches up and holds me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and steadies me against his chest with a strong grip. It's ridiculous really. Here he is, comforting _me_ as _I'm_ the one preparing to drink his fucking blood. There has never been a pair as idiotic as the two of us. I'm grateful that Simon has never gotten mixed up with any other vampires. He'd be a fucking raisin by now. 

"You're not taking anything, you wanker," he says, his voice rising above a mumble, "I'm giving it to you." 

"I still don't understand why you would want to do that," I say, and I realize there are tears in my eyes. I try to blink them away. I don't want them to drip down onto his neck, I think, partially because he'd feel me crying. Partially because I don't want anything to tarnish the taste of his skin when I press my lips there. 

"Because you deserve it." He responds and the words hit me in the chest. I turn my head away, giving myself a breath of cool air while pressing my cheek to the side of his. It’s useless though; the whole fucking country carries his scent. "I want you to have it. I... I want you to feel what I feel. I want you to know that I love you."

There are tears falling down my cheeks now, and I have to lift my hand to hold onto his shoulder. He's gripping me so tightly. I don't dare to squirm. 

"I know you love me," I whisper.

"If you knew how much love is inside me... Baz, I want you to feel it. I want you to feel loved.”

"Simon..." I say his name because I'm not sure what else to say. There is nothing else to say.

"My heart beats for you," He whispers now, so quiet that I even I can barely hear him. A breeze adjusts the hair on the back of my head, and Simon replaces the wind with his hand again. My face is back in his neck, and I swear I'm going dizzy. There's so much of him, just by the scent alone. I want him on top of me, so I can curl into his chest and suffocate in it. “So everything else is already yours. You can have it." 

"Baby..."

"You can have me." He says. And then, even softer. “Do it.” 

The softest sound escapes Simon's lips, and I know I've already broken a long-aged promise not to hurt him. I have half a mind to pull off him that very instant, to run and hide away from him, but he's holding me. His hands are gripped around my shoulders, and I know that I can't pull off. I can't run away from this.

He needs this, I think, as much as I do. 

Usually, the instant my teeth pass skin is when the creature goes limp, but Simon Snow is gripping my shoulders. He's holding onto me for dear life as if I weren't the very one taking it away from him. 

My teeth should not be able to cut through skin this easily. I should not be so well equipped that the breaking of his skin is as simple as spreading butter on warm bread. If not for mages, humanity would've been wiped out by this virus centuries ago. Vampires would've destroyed the human race, and themselves in the process, within a year. It's that fucking easy. 

At the moment, though, it might be for good reason. I don't need to force myself onto Simon's neck. It's easy, and the second after my fangs pass his skin I can tell that Simon's not in pain. He's holding onto me, but his nails don't dig into my shoulders. I can't see his face at this angle, but I can hear a relaxed puff of breath leave his lips. I can feel how his body was tensed in anticipation because now he sinks into the grass. I carefully readjust my angle, placing a hand against Simon's cheek. 

There are no words to describe the feeling of Simon Snow’s blood against my tongue. 

In the strictest sense, blood tastes like blood. It's never tasted particularly good, and though the craving never ceases, I don't expect the taste to ever be improved upon by more than a few degrees. Yeah, I prefer deer to rats. The blood of a unicorn has a sense of lavender, and merwolves taste like rotten fish. But it's all just blood when you get down to it.

It is entirely different when the blood belongs to Simon Snow.

Whether or not it tastes better may very well be a pure delusion, but Simon snow is a feast through and through. He is every good thing I have ever tasted. He is every good thing I've ever experienced. He is everything. And now, because of this gift he’s given me, he's everywhere.

He's whispering, even as I drink, scattered "I love you's" and expressions of encouragement as if I were doing something that required more skill than just lapping at his neck. He's rubbing my back, fingertips pushed under my shirt so he can survey the length of my spine with his fingers, and my skin is covered in goose pimples. His arm wraps around my waist, and when he cups the back of my head to hold me to his neck I swallow down a sob, though my cheeks have been wet this entire time. 

If it weren't for my being a vampire, I may never have known what this felt like. I never would've had this experience with him. I would never get to feel him intertwine with me in such an intimate way. I feel blessed, for the first time in my life, to have this condition upon my existence. 

I understand then, in the thick of it, what this means to him. Why he means to give me his most precious asset. 

Because Simon Snow is the love of my life.

And I am the love of his. 

**Simon**

This was always going to happen. There’s no alternate universe where Baz doesn’t end up drinking my blood. I’m glad I’m in this one, where he cradles my cheek, strokes his hand over my beating heart, and where I get to feel him against me. I'm glad I'm here in this one, where this means something. And it means everything. 

Part of me was worried that it would make me feel empty to give him all that I am. Granted, feeling overfull with emotions was a little too much, but I didn't want to feel empty. I just wanted Baz to have some of it, and that was the best way I could think of doing it. 

That's not at all how it felt though. It didn't feel like Baz was draining anything or like I was giving away the feelings to make room for myself. No, it felt like sharing. It felt like being free. It felt like Baz could feel what's inside of me. Like he could feel every word I'd never had the capability to speak.

That's all I've ever wanted.

**Baz**

I expected it to be difficult to stop. Like any good thing, I knew I wouldn't want to stop once I started. What surprised me was that it wasn't because I was thirsty. In fact, it was quenched the second his blood touched my tongue. I didn't have the urge to drain him nor was I overtaken by some sick ferality, as I had feared I would, I just didn't want this moment to end. 

What made it even harder was the way Simon was holding onto me. His fingers were wrapped up in my hair, and he held me to his neck with such insistence that I couldn't pull away.

A low voice in the back of my head pounded unheard reason into this trance I was in, but Simon was holding me. He held me to his neck and all I could do was nudge closer and sip at the contents of his heart and feel as loved as he wanted me to be- entirely. Because he is Simon Snow, and I am eternally at his mercy.

But I had to stop.

He would light himself on fire if it meant keeping me warm, I know that now for certain. But I’m the flammable one here; my existence depends on him and his steady heartbeat. I have to stop, Simon. He moves his hand to the back of my neck. 

It ends with a gasp, from both of us, probably. I lift my head, chest heaving, and I’m shocked to find that my fangs are already gone. I lick my lips, but there’s nothing there. Simons looking up at me, and there are tears dried onto his cheeks and a smile on his lips. I want to kiss him, or stare into his eyes or curl into his chest until I disappear. I refrain.

Instead, I reach in my pocket and take out my wand, holding the other hand over the wound as I mumble a quick " **Thicker Than Water"** to stop the bleeding. Simon's eyes are closed now, but they scrunch a little when he feels the magic. I apologize quietly, immediately placing my hands on his cheeks. Touching his face brings me to reality: he’s pale. 

"Oh, baby," I whisper, gently pushing his hair out of his face, but I have no voice. There's blood on my hand, Simon's blood. I reach back to wipe it against my jeans and place my hands back on his cheeks, peering at him cautiously. "Does it hurt? A-are you hurt?”

It's a stupid question, I think, but he shakes his head. 

I still stare at Simon when he sleeps at night. I relish in the way his eyelashes brush against his cheeks, in the way his stolen youth eases back into his features. He is too delicate to touch, so instead, I just watch.

That's how Simon looks right now. It scares the hell out of me.

If Simon is this close to falling asleep, it's probably not a good sign. It's probably him on the verge of passing out. I feel my stomach drop for the second time this night; I feel full of lead. My breath hitches and I start patting around for my wand, but Simon's eyebrows furrow.

"I'm okay, Baz, relax. Put away the weaponry," He says, and his voice isn't strained the slightest bit. I pause, staring at him with eyes open wide. His eyes are open now as if just waking up from a nap. He blinks up at me with lazy focus, and I brush my hand through his hair again. I must look really frightened because he laughs. "It's okay. Take a deep breath. You didn't do anything wrong."

“Baby,” I breathe, shaking my head as I brush my thumb against his cheek. I feel like I could cry again.

”I’m okay. Don’t feel bad.” He murmurs now, turning his head to press a kiss against my thumb. His hands travel up my sides and he pulls me down so my head rests on his chest. I make a point to lean my head away from his puncture wounds. “ Don't feel bad, darling. I’m just tired, s'all. I... feel really good. It feels like I got fucked good.”

My own snort catches me by surprise, and Simon grins. I lean up and press a kiss to his chin. I don't know what to say.   
  
“Do you want me to spell the wounds away?” I ask, my voice never above a whisper while I lean down to rest my cheek against his chest. I can hear his heart, and it’s beating normally. It’s a good sign. A deep breath fills my lungs; Simon Snow is going to live. 

“No, I think I want to see them later.”  
  
I frown, furrowing my eyebrows, but I don’t argue. Sure, Bunce is going to kill me later, and Shepard is going to question us as if we completed some sort of traditional ritual, but that’s not something I’m going to deal with right now. Instead, I nod.

“Does your neck hurt?”

”No,” he responds, but when I look up at him for more he shrugs. “It just feels a little cold, I guess. Physically, not what I expected. Physically... very good. Emotionally, right on par.” I nod, my own eyebrows going together. 

”Then what did it feel like?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway. 

He doesn’t respond at first. His eyes are cast upwards, hooded and unfocused. I swallow down my worry because he’s still holding me tight enough to prove consciousness. Soon we’re going to have to return home, so I can at least dress his wounds and feed him something. Maybe I’ll shower with him, give him warmth and clean his skin of the dirt and blood. I'll thank him in every way I know possible for the rest of our lives. More than anything else, he needs to sleep. I almost forgot I asked him a question.

**Simon**

It felt like freedom. Like every moment of my life was leading to this one. It felt like an eternity, but also only a moment. It felt like Baz could finally understand. It felt like he could hear every thought that was trapped inside of me. It felt like he could feel every emotion I never had the words for. It felt like everything. 

I look down at him and he's already peering up at me. 

**Baz**

His eyes steady on mine, and I know the answer. He says it anyway. 

"Felt like love."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Finishing this fic really feels like raising a child in such a weird and twisted way. It's just a 9k, but it still feels like a big deal. I started writing parts of this fic long before I had even gotten my assignment, and getting to finish it now really feels like a labor of love. This fic had such an extreme transformation from what it first started out as to what I finished with, and I'm honestly so happy about that. At first, It was difficult to write because I'm really struggling with this quarantine myself, but when I started acknowledging those feelings and let Simon and Baz have access to them it really helped me get through to the story that I actually wanted to write. A lot of my fics are super angsty reflections on Wayward Son, but I wanted this one to be different from that. I recognize that it was angsty in itself, but hopefully, it was a reflection of how to take intense feelings and make them count for something good. I hope this fic brought you a little bit of joy during this time.  
> And, of course, feel free to talk to me on [Tumblr](https://motherscarf.tumblr.com)


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